


Refraction

by NachoDiablo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Consentacles, Deities, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Summoning, Tentacle Sex, tentacle bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/pseuds/NachoDiablo
Summary: At a boring frat party, Steve narrowly escapes a conjuring gone awry. Not the best date he’s ever been on, but not the worst, either.But he didn’t return alone.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 45
Kudos: 443
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	Refraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerfectlyImperfect42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyImperfect42/gifts).



> [PerfectlyImperfect42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyImperfect42) bid on me for MTH, thank you for the fun prompt! I hope you enjoy the story.
> 
> Beta read by smol Steve MVP [bangyababy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy) <3

Steve frowned against the rim of his red solo cup. Natty Light. _Warm_ Natty Light. Typical. Even with extremely low expectations for the evening, Steve was still let down. 

The beat of out-of-date rap-rock reverberated through the frat house. It was stuffy and warm, even for Steve, who was nearly always chilly. Steve’s date was long gone, not that he minded much. Brock wasn’t his type at all, but he’d been caught off guard by the invite. He didn’t date much, and Nat had been on his case lately about getting out more.

Steve abandoned the cup on a nearby table and pulled out his phone to text Sam and let him know he was on his way back to their apartment. He checked the time; still early enough to salvage the evening. He decided to skip the bus so he could make a stop at the corner store for some of that Oreo mint ice cream that Sam loved and Steve had come to tolerate.

“Hey!” Brock had sidled up next to him, offering up a fake grin and another cup of disappointment from the keg. “Having a good time?”

Steve managed a weak smile. “Yeah, it’s great. Except I have to head out. I’m, uh. Not feeling so great.”

“Well, you _look_ great.” Brock draped a beefy arm across Steve’s thin shoulders. Steve clenched his jaw. With his slight frame and frequent wheezing, he was rarely subjected to the ever-annoying “but you don’t _look_ sick” dismissive comments that able bodied people loved to throw around. He knew Brock didn’t mean it that way, but it rankled just the same.

“Can you stay just ten more minutes?” Brock’s voice was oil against water. “I wanna show you something.”

Steve shot him a dubious look. He’d figured Brock was just after a quick hookup-- which Steve had no intention of allowing-- but he had expected slightly more finesse.

Brock must have sensed his distaste because he laughed and pulled back his arm. “Really,” he insisted. “We got some new pottery on loan from the historical society. Alex Pierce’s dad sent it over. You like art, right? These are real nice pieces. You’ll definitely wanna see them.”

Steve sighed in defeat. His inner history major had to admit that _did_ sound interesting. “Sure, I’ll check it out. But only for a few minutes, then I’ve gotta go.”

“Of course,” Brock agreed. He rested a hand on the small of Steve’s back and steered him towards the kitchen. They made their way towards the basement door, following another couple down the stairs.

The basement was finished with laminate wood flooring and brightly painted brick walls. A handful of other couples milled around the cracked leather couches, gravitating towards a back room. Steve allowed Brock to usher him along, following a girl with cotton candy pink curls through the door and into a cramped room.

The change in decor was impressive. Thick red carpets lined the floor, and the wallpaper looked like rich silver fabric, embroidered with a pattern of blue and black waves. A little garish, Steve thought, but clearly expensive.

Positioned in the center of the room was a spindly silver table, just wide enough at the top to hold a trumpet vase. The vase was, at first glance, not very impressive. Six inches high, painted crimson with more than a few chips. The same blue and black wave design on the wallpaper swirled around the base.

But as Steve stepped closer, something in the pattern caught his eye. It must have been a trick of the dim light, the way the pattern seemed to ripple ever so slightly, and the black lines in the design sparkled.

Mesmerized, Steve took a step closer. Brock’s hand dropped from his back, thankfully. Steve adjusted his glasses and leaned in. No, it wasn’t the lighting. The pattern was definitely moving, waves rolling with black tendrils weaving through, and--

A sudden bang jerked Steve’s attention away from the vase. His head whipped around to the door, which was now shut. Steve looked for Brock, but he was gone, along with the other frat brothers. Only five people remained, none of whom Steve recognized, other than the pink haired girl who’d been in front of him earlier. The other four people looked alarmed. Steve was mostly just annoyed at himself.

With a sigh, Steve trudged over to the door and tried the handle. It didn’t turn, but Steve hadn’t expected it to. He checked his cell phone; no service. No surprise, it had been spotty at best all evening.

He’d never been part of an elaborate frat prank before, just the run-of-the-mill dudebro harassment. It had only been a matter of time, he supposed. He felt stupid for not seeing this coming. 

“Hello?” Steve tried to sound bored as he knocked on the door. He wanted to give Brock and his cronies as little satisfaction as possible. “Seems like the door’s stuck.”

“It’s not stuck,” Brock’s voice boomed through the door. “It’s _locked._ On purpose.”

“I _know,”_ Steve said through clenched teeth. “I was just being-- you know what, never mind, just let us out and--”

“There is no escape!”

Steve wrinkled his nose at the door. “Huh?”

“I said, there is no--”

“I _heard_ what you said!” Steve snapped. “It’s just fucking stupid! Let us out and stop being dramatic.”

One of the other captives gasped behind him. It was silent for a moment, then a chorus of screams erupted. Steve clapped his hands over his ears and winced as he turned around to tell the others to calm down, but what he saw shocked him into silence.

Thick clouds of inky blue smoke billowed up from the vase, obscuring the ceiling from view. Threads of silver light flashed through the curls of smoke as something like thunder reverberated through the room.

“The God with No Name is summoned,” Brock’s pompous voice droned through the door. “He will bring glory and good grades to HYDRA House!”

“The _what?”_ Steve wheezed. He hoped the smoke stayed above his head; his lungs already felt tight.

“Oh God With No Name, we know you require a sacrifice--”

“What the--”

“--and we have provided you with five offerings to prove our dedication.”

“Oh shit!” One of the others in the room, a boy with curly red hair, bolted towards the door. He shoved Steve to the side and hammered his fists against the wood. “Let us out! Let us out, don’t sacrifice us!”

Steve rubbed his temples and focused on steadying his breathing. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. Louder, he called towards the door, “That’s enough! Let us out, the joke’s gone far enough, and the smoke’s getting thick.” 

The only reply that came through the door was a slow cadence of what sounded like poorly pronounced Latin. Steve frowned and turned back towards the vase. The smoke didn’t seem to be getting any thicker, but the air was heavy, warm. The lightning streaks flashed, and Steve took a few steps closer. 

He squinted through his glasses, which remained miraculously unfogged. Clearly there was some sort of smoke machine rigged up. If Steve could turn it off, maybe everyone would calm down. Slowly, he reached out a hand towards the vase.

A long tendril, slick and dark, reached back, entwining his forearm with a gentle tug.

Steve yanked his arm back, heart pounding in his ears along with the screams of the others. What the fuck _was_ that? Had they brought in some sort of animal? The ground shook, but the table with the vase stayed perfectly still. 

Steve backed up and assessed the room once more. They had to find a way out, and fast. He spotted a window on the left wall, near the ceiling. It was too high to open and there wasn’t anything to stand on in the room. 

He caught the eye of the pink haired girl and waved her over. She looked frightened, but collected. She ran to Steve’s side and bent down so he could speak directly into her ear amongst all the screeching and thunderclaps.

Steve pointed towards the window, but before he could say anything, a tendril shot out from the vase with a flourish, hit the wall, then snapped back. The girl let out a sob as her eyes filled with tears. Steve grabbed her gently by the shoulders.

“What’s your name?

“Anna,” she answered in a watery voice.

Steve flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hi Anna, I’m Steve. We’re gonna get out of this, okay? You hear me?”

She took a deep breath, then nodded. Steve smiled again as he gave her shoulders a squeeze.

“Here’s the plan. I’m gonna distract… whatever that is. You get people out that window as fast as you can. Boost everyone up one by one, then pull the last one out. Whoever goes first, have them call for help. Okay?”

“Okay,” Anna replied. “But what about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you.” Steve hoped it wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t much matter at the moment. He gave her a push towards the window, then ran to the wall on the opposite side.

“Hey!” Steve shouted at the vase. “Over here, come and get me!” 

Feeling a strange mixture of bravery, fear, and foolishness, he held his arms out in front of him and waved them back and forth. He wasn’t sure what sort of movement the creature would find enticing. He stepped closer and waved his arms with more vigor.

“I’m right here, look at me! Look this way, come on, come and--augh!”

Despite his posturing, the sudden movement of two tendrils flying out to bind against his arms nearly gave him a heart attack. He fought the urge to pull away; instead he dug his fingers into the creature’s flesh. 

**_“You are not the one who summoned me.”_ **

A gravelly voice filled the room. Steve looked at the source of the sound; the vase. The surrounding smoke was thicker than ever, and glistening against the densest part were two glacial eyes.

**_“Well?”_ **

The question brought Steve back to attention. He cleared his throat and shook his head.

“No,” he replied. “I didn’t.” He felt silly talking to a vase, even when it talked back. 

**_“Then why do you call to me now?”_ **

Steve wasn’t sure how to answer. He couldn’t exactly admit to causing a distraction. He dug his fingers deeper into the tendrils, and decided the best defense was a good offense. 

“I don’t have to answer your questions,” he snapped. “I’m not afraid of you!”

**_“I can see that.”_ **

Steve could have sworn he heard a hint of amusement in the reply. He frowned, unsure whether he should be scared or annoyed. 

Before he could make up his mind, smoke erupted from the vase in a choking fog and everything in Steve’s mind went black.

~

When Steve came to, he found himself on a cot in the medical building. He sat up, feeling groggy but unharmed. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d gotten here. The last thing he remembered was… actually, he wasn’t sure he had a clear memory of anything past heading to the basement with Brock. He’d followed a pink haired girl into a back room, and then… nothing.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His eyes darted towards the open door, half expecting to see someone watching him. But no one was there. Or at least, no one Steve could see. Which wasn’t saying much, since he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

He looked around for his glasses, and noticed them on the bedside table next to a plastic cup of water. As he put on his glasses and sipped the water, he heard hushed voices from the next cot over.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” A girl’s whisper drifted through the thin curtain that separated the cots. 

“Yeah,” another girl replied. Steve recognized her voice; it was the pink haired girl he’d met yesterday. Anna, Steve remembered, that was her name.

“I feel fine, just tired. We were really lucky. Gas leaks can be dangerous. I can’t believe five people almost _died.”_

“If it was really a gas leak.” The friend sounded skeptical. “It could be a cover up. The frat guys who got transported to the hospital, I heard they had _sea water_ in their lungs. Gas leaks don’t do that.”

“Nothing does that,” Anna said, though she sounded uncertain. “I don’t remember what happened, but there definitely weren’t any _oceans_ around. It’s gotta be bullshit.”

Steve silently agreed. He frowned as he realized that he _did_ remember bits and pieces from the previous evening. Dark smoke and flashes of lightning, red clay and frantic whimpers.

“Hey, you’re up!” 

Startled, Steve turned to his right. Sam stood by the cot, with a relieved smile on his face. Steve smiled and hopped off the cot to give Sam a hug.

“Have I been out for long?” Steve asked as he shrugged his way into the jacket that Sam held out for him.

Sam shook his head. “Only a couple of hours. A nurse is coming over to check you out, then we can go home. As long as you’re okay.”

“I feel fine,” Steve insisted. “As fine as I ever do, at least.”

Sure enough, the nurse found nothing wrong with him, other than his usual ailments, and they were free to go. Steve checked his watch as they walked through campus towards the bus station. Seven in the morning; the earliest he’d been up on a Saturday in a long time.

“I need coffee,” he grumbled. “Do you think the line’ll be long at this hour?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to go home and get some rest? Maybe try and go back to sleep?”

“No,” Steve huffed, even as he stifled a yawn.

Sam shook his head, but he was smiling. They ducked into the coffee shop next to the student center. Sure enough, there was no line. Steve ordered and paid for their drinks, and they scrolled their phones while they waited for their pour overs.

As Steve checked Twitter, he felt that peculiar prickling on his neck return. He glanced around the coffee shop, but he and Sam were the only customers. Before he could turn his attention back to his phone, a flash of movement outside the shop caught his eye.

Across the street was a large oak tree. Propped against the tree was a dark haired boy who looked to be around Steve’s own age. He wore a long, bulky black jacket over a red henley and dark wash jeans. 

And his eyes, icy blue fringed with sooty lashes, were fixed unblinking on Steve.

Instinctively, Steve looked down at his phone, embarrassed to be caught staring. But another quick glance out the window, and Steve realized that it was the blue eyed boy who was staring. Steve frowned and tilted his head up to stare back. The boy’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but Steve squared his jaw and kept his gaze steady.

“Order’s ready for Steve!”

Steve whipped his head back around to the counter where two coffee cups sat. He looked at Sam and asked, “Are those ours?”

Sam made a great show of looking around the still-empty coffee shop. “Probably.”

Scowling, Steve grabbed his coffee cup and marched towards the door, ignoring Sam’s snickers as he trailed behind towards the bus stop.

The blue eyed boy was gone.

~

The next time Steve saw the boy, he wondered if perhaps he hadn’t suffered damage from the gas leak after all. He’d been in the library, helping a freshmen gather up her books after a harried law student had carelessly knocked into her. Steve had been trying not to crack his joints too much as he got up from the floor, and he’d noticed those same blue eyes watching him from between the bookshelves.

A few days later, Steve had been gritting his teeth at the bus stop while he listened to two marketing students make loud comments about how “gross” it was that the campus was working to install additional gender neutral bathrooms. After adjusting his backpack so his pride patches were in full view, the complaints only got louder, so he’d had to firmly tell them to shut up. As they’d rolled their eyes and muttered quietly to each other, Steve had seen the boy sitting on the next bench over. He wore an amused expression as he leaned casually against the back of the bench. Before Steve could walk over and ask what he was looking at, the bus had arrived and he had headed to class.

The following Tuesday, Steve had been chatting with a girl, Sharon, from his French Literature class in the cafeteria. He’d noticed her trying to politely shut down the attempts at conversation from a guy in line next to her at the sandwich counter who hadn’t seemed to catch on to her disinterest. Steve had been meaning to ask her about an assignment anyway, so he’d sidled up next to her and subtly offered her an out, which she had immediately taken. As the overeager guy had trailed away dejectedly, he’d walked past the coffee station, where the blue eyed boy had been sipping an enormous iced coffee as he watched the scene. When their eyes had met, the boy had returned Steve’s frustrated grimace with a cheerful grin, then slipped away through the side door.

“I don’t get it,” Sam said later as they sat on a bench outside the cafeteria and split an order of cheese fries. “You think a cute guy is stalking you?”

Steve snatched a particularly cheesy fry from the tray and stuffed it in his mouth. “I didn’t say he was cute.”

“It was implied.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve muttered. “And I don’t think he’s _stalking_ me, that sounds creepy. Just. Watching me. And following me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And that’s not creepy?”

“No,” Steve said slowly. “I think… I might know him.”

“You think you might know him?” Sam sounded unconvinced. “Steve, we know all the same people. And none of them are cute blue eyed boys who creep on you.”

Steve frowned as he grabbed another fry. Sam had a point. Neither of them were social butterflies, and Steve in particular wasn’t exactly fending off suitors. Sam got asked out pretty often, but he always declined. He’d lost his childhood sweetheart in a car accident the summer before college, and he hadn’t dated since. Wasn’t ready, he said. Steve respected that, and appreciated that Sam didn’t push him on the dating front, either, unlike some of his other well-meaning friends.

“I don’t mean that I _know_ him,” Steve mused. “More like… I’ve met him before.”

“Like you’ve seen him around campus?”

“No, it’s… he looks at me like he knows me, too.”

Sam looked thoughtful as he took a sip of his soda. “Why don’t you just ask him?”

“I _would,_ if I could catch him. He always disappears.” Steve pushed the tray towards Sam; there was one fry left. Sam shook his head, so Steve ate it himself and reached for the napkins to clean off his fingers.

“Well, if you spot him, point him out,” Sam said. He moved to gather their trash, but Steve waved him off and collected it himself. They hugged goodbye, then Sam headed to his afternoon lab. Steve stopped by the trash can, then stood for a minute, unsure of what he wanted to do next. He didn’t have any classes, but he didn’t feel like heading back to the apartment alone. 

And then he noticed the blue eyed boy, standing by the bike rack, dressed in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. He had his hands in his pockets, watching Steve with that same half smile on his face. Determined, Steve stomped towards the boy as fast as he could without breaking into a wheeze.

“Hey,” he snapped. “Wait up!” He nearly careened into the boy, but he stopped himself just in time. Catching his breath, he looked around in confusion. They were still in front of the bike rack. 

“Oh,” Steve said, confused. “You weren’t running away, were you?”

“No.” The boy’s voice was low, gravelly, and oddly familiar.

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

Steve huffed and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “You’ve disappeared every other time I’ve seen you.”

The boy shrugged. “You never asked me to stay before.”

Steve didn’t really have an answer for that. He supposed it made sense. The boy looked at him expectantly. Steve realized that despite hollering at the boy to wait, he had no idea how to proceed from here.

“Do we know each other from somewhere?” Steve cringed inwardly at how corny that sounded, but the boy didn’t seem to notice.

“We do,” the boy said with a smile. “We met a few days back.”

“We did?” Steve asked, dubious. “Where?”

“In the basement.”

Steve blinked. “Excuse me?”

“At the frat house,” the boy said. “With the ugly red carpet.”

Dread knotted in Steve’s stomach. He looked closely at the boy; his memories from that evening were far from clear, but he was certain that this boy hadn’t been among the people trapped. Yet now that the boy had brought it up, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about him, maybe the eyes, that reminded Steve of that night.

The boy seemed to pick up on Steve’s unease. He smiled and tilted his head. “Sorry, I guess you don’t recognize me like this. Last time you saw me, I was in the vase.”

Steve stared at him. Waiting for the punchline. When none followed, he sighed and closed his eyes. Of course he was being messed with. Why had he ever considered differently?

He didn’t bother replying as he pushed past the boy, careless of his bony elbow jabbing the boy in the ribs. He trudged towards the bus stop. Might as well melt into the couch and watch Bob’s Burgers reruns until Sam got home.

“Wait!” A hand rested on Steve’s shoulder, heavy but not constricting. Steve stopped and turned, scowling. The boy was behind him, still looking calm, as though this was a normal sort of conversation to be having.

Steve shook off his grip and crossed his arms tightly over his thin chest. “Listen,” he said in a firm voice. “I don’t need to remember all the details from that night. I woke up in the damn medical wing. Pretty sure we can call it a terrible experience all around. Not the worst date I’ve ever been on, shockingly, but it sucked all the same. So I really don’t need you to keep hassling me, okay?”

“I’m not trying to hassle you.” The boy’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why would you think that?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna keep going with this, huh?” 

“I don’t mean to,” the boy said with a shrug. “I just wanted a chance to get to know you.”

“Why?” Steve shot back.

“Because I like you.”

The honest ease with which the boy’s answer flowed from his lips had Steve pause for a moment.

“Why?” he asked again.

“Because you’re different.”

“Ugh.” Steve took off his glasses and rubbed one fist against his eye. He shook his head, then put his glasses back on and gave the boy a stern look. “We aren’t gonna get anywhere if you keep doing the vague answer thingy.”

“I’m not trying to be vague,” the boy said apologetically. “I’m just answering what you ask.”

“Let’s try something different, then.” Steve pointed to the coffee shop on the corner. “You got time for a drink?”

The boy chuckled at this, then nodded. “Time? I definitely have that.”

Steve didn’t bother asking what that meant. He marched into the coffee shop, ordered his usual pour over, and paid. The boy followed suit, examining the limited menu for longer than necessary before selecting a cinnamon latte. He smiled courteously at the barista as he paid with what appeared to be a generous tip.

Once they both had their drinks, they settled into a booth across from each other. Steve eyed the boy warily, but he seemed relaxed as he sipped his drink.

Once Steve’s coffee was half drunk, he pushed his cup aside. “Okay,” he said, his voice slow and deliberate. “We’re gonna do this differently. Instead of me asking you questions and you giving me cryptic answers, you’re just gonna tell me what I need to know. And if you get annoying about it, I’ll leave. So bear that in mind.”

The boy grinned. “I will,” he promised. He took a sip of his latte and shrugged. “I suppose we should get the more awkward parts out of the way first. I’m a god.”

“Are you _serious?”_ Steve hissed. “I told you not to be annoying, and you--”

“It’s true.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” The boy sounded pleased. “Here, let me show you.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to expect, but the sudden clap of thunder and blinding flash of lightning was more than he was prepared to handle. He gasped, throwing himself back against the booth as smoke swirled in the air. 

**_“Do you remember me now?”_ **

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He knew that voice; it would be impossible not to remember. He felt his chest tighten and realized that he was holding his breath. He let it out, slowly, trying to keep his mind steady. He squinted one eye open, then widened them both when he saw the coffee shop was as it always had been. The barista was scrolling her phone, and the handful of other patrons were seated at their tables, chatting idly as though nothing was amiss.

“What the hell?” Steve muttered, glaring at the boy across from him. “Did no one else see that?”

The boy shrugged. “Why would they? I’m a god, but I’m not a dick. I don’t want to freak out everyone here without warning.”

“Just me?” Steve asked dryly.

“You asked me to.” The boy grinned and took another sip of his drink.

Steve couldn’t argue with that logic. And if the choices were that this guy was telling the truth, or Steve was having some sort of fit, he’d take the former, thanks. “Fine,” he said eventually. “You’re a god, I guess. Neat. What’s your name?”

The boy looked thoughtful. “I go by many names, and none. Around here, I’ve been using Bucky.”

That wasn’t something Steve was expecting either, but he wasn’t about to rag on someone for their name choice, god or no. “Alright, Bucky. Why are you following me?”

“I like you,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I get summoned every so often. And it’s always someone asking for something boring. Money, power, clout, something meaningless that only matters to humans for their millisecond of existence.”

“Do you have to give it to them?” Steve asked. “Like, are you bound to obey, if they summon you?”

The amused look on Bucky’s face made Steve feel silly for not knowing the answer. In his defence, his childhood CCD lessons at the Catholic church didn’t really touch on this area of religion.

“I’m a _god,”_ Bucky said. “I don’t have to obey anyone.”

“Oh,” Steve mused. “That’s… pretty sweet, actually.”

“It is,” agreed Bucky. “Sometimes I grant people’s requests. Sometimes I tell them no. Sometimes I pretend like I never showed up and watch them try weirder and weirder things to summon me.”

“Well, would you have granted Hydra’s requests? If I hadn’t, uh, distracted you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Probably not. That basement carpet was heinous.”

“It was.” Steve took another sip of coffee, then frowned. “Wait so what made me different? I didn’t ask for anything.” 

“Exactly. You didn’t ask for anything, you just waved your arms around and hollered at me. You weren’t afraid of me, or impressed. You were just…” 

Bucky trailed off and waved a hand in the air. “So I decided to stay a while.”

“And what, follow me around?” Steve tried to sound irritated rather than alarmed. “That couldn’t have been very interesting.”

“It was.” Bucky smiled over the rim of his cup. “You’re different.”

“How so?”

“You’re a nice person.”

Steve knit his eyebrows together behind his glasses. “That’s pretty common. Plenty of people are nice.”

“Not the way you are.” Bucky set his cup down. “You make other people want to be nice, too. Or even if they don’t _want_ to, you insist on it.”

“I guess,” Steve said, uncertain. “I mean, that’s not always a great personality trait to have, honestly. Gets me into trouble, sometimes.”

“All the best human personality traits do,” Bucky said. He nodded decisively, as though he were an expert on such things. Maybe he was; Steve sure as hell didn’t know. He _did_ know that the intensity of Bucky’s gaze, paired with his kind words, were starting to make Steve feel a little embarrassed.

He cleared his throat, hoping that his cheeks weren’t too noticeably flushed. “Well, you don’t have to keep creeping around. You can, you know. Come over and say hello the next time you see me. If you want to.”

Bucky smiled again, blue eyes glinting. “Yes. I’ll want to.”

# ~

They fell into a routine of sorts over the next couple of weeks. Every Tuesday and Wednesday, Steve would stop by the coffee shop at nine in the morning. Bucky would be waiting with two steaming cups in front of him. Wednesdays and Fridays, they walked together after Steve’s lunches with Sam. Mondays varied, based on what Steve had going on and how much sleep he’d gotten over the weekend. Bucky seemed able to appear at the most opportune moment. 

Steve was fairly certain that Bucky still followed him during the day, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it was comforting in a way, knowing that there was a mostly-benevolent supernatural being keeping an eye on him.

Whatever skepticism Steve had clung to in the beginning had faded away. Whether or not Bucky was a god, Steve still wasn’t sure. But he was definitely something otherworldly.

“Where do you go when you're not with me?” Steve knocked his bony shoulder against Bucky’s sturdier one. They were seated next to each other on a bench by the lake in the park. Steve had a pretzel gripped in his hands as he glared at some of the braver ducks who waddled closer in search of crumbs.

“I go everywhere,” Bucky replied. He had one arm across the back of the bench, behind Steve’s shoulders. The other flicked the air in slow, lazy movements that directed a series of small waves and ripples in the water. “Everywhere around town, anyway. There’s a lot to see.”

“In _this_ town? Doubtful.” Steve broke off a piece of pretzel and held it out to Bucky, who shook his head. Steve shrugged and stuffed it into his own mouth.

“You only think that because you see it every day. You’re used to it all.”

“I guess.” Steve took another bite of pretzel and chewed thoughtfully. “Where do you sleep? Do you even _have_ to sleep?”

“No, I don’t have to. I can, if I want to, but I haven’t yet.”

“Oh,” Steve mused. “What about food? I’ve seen you drink and eat.”

“Only because I wanted to,” Bucky confirmed.

Steve continued to eat his pretzel. The waves swirled and danced under Bucky’s will; nothing too noticeable, unless you had a sharp eye. Steve shifted his position and winced. His hip joints weren’t loving the hard slats of the wooden bench.

“Are you alright?” 

Steve turned towards Bucky and tried to smile. “It’s fine. Just getting stiff from sitting too long.”

Concern lined Bucky’s expression. Steve felt Bucky’s hand, the one behind him on the bench, rest on his shoulder, firm but gentle. Bucky’s other hand remained in motion with the water.

“We can get up and walk, if you prefer,” Bucky said. “It might be good to get away from our audience.” He shot a wary glance at the ducks.

Steve hesitated. He knew he needed to get up and stretch, but Bucky’s arm was warm around his shoulder. Still, he nodded, then stood up. “Actually, I should probably head back to the apartment. Sam’ll be wondering where I am this close to dinner.”

“Oh.” Bucky seemed disappointed as he shoved both his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. The lake stilled as Bucky’s waves fell flat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Or you could come home with me,” Steve suggested hopefully.

“Now?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Won’t your friend be home?”

“Yeah, but Sam’s cool. I’ve been meaning to introduce you two.” Steve rarely kept secrets from Sam, and never one of this magnitude. It made him uncomfortable to have something so fantastical happen to him and not be able to share it with Sam. And he was certain that Bucky and Sam would get along well. If Bucky thought Steve, with all his prickles and peculiarities, was a nice person, he would surely think the world of Sam.

“I don’t know.” Bucky pursed his lips in thought. “I can’t pretend to be a human, Steve. Not in front of your friend.”

Steve had questions about what Bucky meant by that, but he didn’t want to pry. “You wouldn’t have to. I want to tell Sam the truth. If you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

Slowly, Bucky nodded. “I am, if you are.”

“I _am,”_ Steve insisted. “Let’s go.”

As they headed out of the park, Steve heard a large splash and a series of irate quacks. Bucky chuckled silently to himself; Steve didn’t say anything, but he grinned the whole way home.

“Sam?” Steve called as he walked through the front door. “You home?”

“You know I am,” Sam’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “What the hell is in the crockpot, by the way? I was gonna make something on the side but I wasn’t sure what I was working with.”

“It’s chicken cacciatore, so we can do rice or pasta. But can you come here first? We’ve got a guest.”

“A what?” Sam came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His eyes widened slightly as he saw Bucky. “Oh. Is this your, uh, new friend?”

Steve bit back his laughter. He could tell that Sam had been about to say _stalker_ rather than _friend._ “Yeah this is him. Bucky, this is my roommate, Sam. Sam, this is Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you.” Sam moved the dish towel to his left hand, and held out his right for Bucky to shake. 

Bucky looked down at Sam’s hand, then back up at his face. He smiled and pulled a hand out of his hoodie pocket. “Nice to meet you, too,” he said in a polite voice.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he snatched his hand back and pressed it against his chest. Steve was about to ask him what was wrong, but a quick glance down provided the answer.

Protruding from the cuff of Bucky’s hoodie was a delicate black tentacle. Steve’s jaw dropped in horror as it rippled in the air, showing a flash of lilac on the underside.

With great calm, Sam set the dish rag on the coffee table. He turned around and walked down the hall to his room, shutting the door behind him. Steve glared at Bucky as he heard the click of Sam’s lock sliding into place. 

“What the hell was that?” he hissed.

Bucky raised his arm and stared at the tentacle in mild surprise. “Oh, sorry.” The tentacle slithered back into the hoodie, and a second later a human hand popped out in its place. He waved it at Steve with a sheepish grin.

“Is this better?” he asked.

Steve threw his own hands in the air. “I guess! Not that it matters, you’ve already scared off Sam!”

“I didn’t mean to.” Bucky looked contrite as he let his hand fall to his side. “I was distracted. I wanted to make a good impression.”

Seeing Bucky so uncharacteristically hesitant drained away Steve’s anger. He sighed and picked up the discarded dish towel. “Okay, first let me check on my Pinterest debacle, and then we’ll try again.”

Once the crockpot was turned off and Bucky was settled on the sofa, Steve walked to Sam’s door and knocked softly.

“Sam?” he called. “Can I come in?”

“It’s unlocked,” a muffled voice called back.

Steve opened the door and slipped into the room. Sam lay face down on his bed, his face pillowed in his arms. He didn’t move as Steve sat down on the bed and rested a hand on Sam’s back.

“Sorry about that,” Steve said with a nervous laugh. “I was going to explain before Bucky did anything weird.”

“Weird,” Sam muttered into his pillow. “That’s one word for it.”

“Well it’s not weird for _him,_ I guess.” Steve drummed his fingers on Sam’s back. “He’s, uh. Not human. As I’m sure you guessed.”

“No shit.”

“He’s a god.”

Slowly, Sam turned his head on his arms to shoot Steve an incredulous stare. “A god.”

“Yeah.”

Steve moved his hand so Sam could shift into a seated position and pull his knees up to his chest. “A _god.”_

“Yeah?” Steve repeated, a little less sure this time. “Or… I mean that’s what he calls himself, I don’t know if that’s, like, the scientific term.”

“You sure he’s not just a frat boy with an octopus stuffed in his shirt?”

“Yes,” Steve sighed. “I’m sure. I’ve seen more proof.”

“You’ve seen proof,” Sam scoffed. “And just like that I’m supposed to be cool with it?”

“Yes,” Steve answered immediately.

Sam narrowed his eyes at Steve, but he nodded and allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “Alright. If you say so.”

A rush of affection ran through Steve as he smiled back. He knew Sam would come around. He and Sam always had each other's backs, no matter how wild the situation got.

He cringed as he admitted, “I _did_ technically meet him at a frat house, though.”

Sam burst into laughter. “I knew it,” he crowed.

Steve gave Sam’s knee a shove, but he laughed as well. “Make fun of me all you want after dinner. Bucky can’t technically get hungry, but I’m starving.”

“Can’t get hungry but he’s gonna eat our food,” Sam grumbled as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “He better not go for seconds.”

~

Bucky didn’t ask for seconds, but he did eat the last ice cream sandwich out of the freezer, so Sam was only mildly irritated. After dinner, Bucky had redeemed himself by losing to Sam, by a slim margin, at Mario Kart. Sam had appreciated playing against a worthy adversary, as opposed to Steve’s poor hand eye coordination.

Later that evening, Bucky had gone off to do whatever it was that he did in the evenings, but the next morning, he’d been at their front door with breakfast burritos and lattes. He’d walked Steve to class, and wound up back at their place for dinner again. And again, and again.

“Are you ever going back?” Steve asked one afternoon. They were sprawled out on Steve’s living room couch, scrolling through Netflix in search of something to kill the three hours until Sam returned from his lab. Steve’s feet rested in Bucky’s lap, and Bucky had one hand resting on Steve’s ankle. Steve liked the way Bucky’s fingers rubbed gently against the bare skin, just below the hem of his pajama pants.

“Going back where?” Bucky asked absentmindedly. 

“Back to wherever you’re from.”

The fingers on Steve’s ankle stilled. “Oh. I’m… not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” Steve frowned, concerned. “Are you having problems trying to get back?”

Bucky’s eyes remained fixed on the television. “Something like that.”

That wasn’t the most straightforward answer, but Steve didn’t want to press him. As far as he knew, none of the frat guys who’d summoned Bucky had returned to school. Maybe they needed to do something to send him back. Maybe Bucky was trapped in some sort of limbo.

But he didn’t _seem_ stuck. He seemed pretty comfortable, all things considered. He’d settled into Steve’s life seamlessly, tentacles and all. And Steve found that he liked having Bucky around. Maybe more than he should. 

He smiled as he poked Bucky’s ribs with his toes. “I’m not trying to kick you out. I like having you here.”

Bucky smiled back as he grabbed Steve gently by the ankle and pulled it back onto his lap. He didn’t reply, but Steve noticed his shoulders loosen slightly against the couch, and the fingers circling against his ankle started back up.

Still, the situation weighed heavily on Steve’s mind over the next few days. A supernatural being like Bucky surely had other matters to attend to, rather than spending all of their time hanging around a plucky college kid. Maybe he _was_ stuck here, but didn’t want to burden Steve with his struggles.

Steve decided to do a little research of his own after his classes the next day. He snuck back into the empty frat house, courtesy of an easily picked lock on the back door, but the basement was stripped bare. Undeterred, he trekked to the classics department and scanned the yellowed faculty office directory pinned to the barren cork board in the entryway.

_Dr. Phillip J. Coulson, Associate Professor of Ancient Mythology, Room 302_

Room 302 was a windowless office on the third floor, crammed with books and dust. The cork board behind the door overflowed with sheets of hand drawn symbols that Steve didn’t recognize. Seated at the cheap metal desk was a nondescript man with thinning hair and glasses at least twice as thick as Steve’s own heavy frames.

At Steve’s hesitant knock on the doorframe, the man jumped and blinked at Steve in apparent surprise. Steve waved and asked, “Uh, Dr. Coulson?”

“That’s me,” Dr. Coulson confirmed. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I’ve got a question about mythology, but it’s pretty obscure.”

“A question for _me?”_ Dr. Coulson seemed pleased, but still bewildered. “I can certainly do my best.”

Steve unzipped his backpack and pulled out his best sketch pad. He tore out the page that he’d doodled on the night before. He’d managed to recreate the blue and black wave markings that had been on Bucky’s vase, or what he remembered of it, at least. 

“I saw these markings, uh, online. They were painted on a red vase. It was allegedly pretty old, based on some sort of… tentacle deity mythology. Do they mean anything to you?”

Dr. Coulson took the sketch and frowned as he stared at it. “Hmmm. Nothing that comes directly to mind, but that makes it even more intriguing. The curve of the wave here, you see, that mimics many ancient symbols, and this coloring…” 

He trailed off and cleared his throat, looking up at Steve with an embarrassed half smile. “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes. I’m sure you’re not interested in all the nitty gritty.”

“I am,” Steve said, mostly truthfully. He was interested in any details that would help Bucky. “Any information you can share with me, I’d love to hear it.”

Dr. Coulson’s face lit up. Clearly, he wasn’t used to students listening to him of their own free will. “Absolutely! Give me some time, I’m sure I can dig up some texts that can shed some light on what we’re working with here.”

Pleased, Steve thanked Dr. Coulson profusely and headed back to the apartment. Sam had texted that he’d called in their dinner order at the sandwich shop across the street, so Steve swung by and picked up the three chicken cheesesteaks on his way home.

Sam and Bucky were in the middle of an epic Mario Kart battle. They traded elbows and good natured insults as Steve dropped the takeout bag on the coffee table and pulled three diet sodas from the fridge.

“Who’s winning?” he asked as he rummaged for ketchup.

“I am,” Bucky declared smugly as Steve set the ketchup down on the coffee table and sat between them.

“Only ‘cause you cheat,” Sam grumbled, scooting over to give Steve more room. He whistled as he pulled ahead, causing Bucky to curse under his breath. Steve grinned as he watched them. He liked seeing Sam and Bucky at ease with each other. Bucky might not be human, but he filled a spot in Steve’s life that he hadn’t even known was empty.

For a moment, he hoped that Dr. Coulson’s research might turn up nothing, but he immediately pushed that thought aside. He couldn’t be selfish and keep Bucky here forever. Sooner or later, Bucky would have to leave.

And if Steve allowed himself to hope just a bit more that it was _later_ rather than _sooner,_ that was his business.

# ~

Steve yawned as he stretched his arms over his head. “I think that’s it for the season.” 

Bucky was stretched out on one end of the couch and Steve was at the other; their feet tangled together in the middle. They’d just finished the last episode of Stranger Things. Sam was at Nat’s for one of their all-night dungeons and dragons sessions,so Steve and Bucky had decided to take advantage of their time alone to watch Stranger Things, since Sam wasn’t a fan of the show.

“There are only eight eposodes?” Bucky frowned. “That can’t be right. Season one had eight, season two had nine, so season three should have ten.”

“Makes sense to me,” Steve laughed. “You should write in a formal complaint.”

“That’s more your department, isn’t it?”

“Ha ha.” Steve rolled his eyes and yawned again.

Bucky frowned and peered at the clock on the DVR. “It’s late, isn’t it? I can leave so you can get some rest.”

It was three fifteen in the morning. Bucky never needed sleep, but Steve was winding down. Still, he didn’t want Bucky to go just yet.

“You can stay,” Steve blurted out. “I know you don’t sleep, but…”

Bucky gave him a curious look. “I _can_ sleep. If I want to.”

“Well, if you want to, you can do it here.” Steve cringed at his awkwardness, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind.

“I can try,” Bucky said with a smile. He unwound his legs from Steve’s and stood up, holding out one hand. Steve accepted it and hoped he wasn’t blushing too hard as Bucky gently pulled him up from the couch.

Twenty minutes later, they were squeezed into Steve’s twin bed, teeth brushed and pajama clad. They lay side by side, arms touching. Steve had his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his gaze blurred without his glasses. He was no longer drowsy in the slightest, not when he could hear the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s breathing next to him.

“Am I disturbing you?” Bucky spoke softly, but his words echoed in the silence of the night.

Steve nearly rolled off the bed, he was so startled. “No,” he said hastily. “No, you’re fine.”

“Then why aren’t you sleeping?”

_Because I can feel the heat of your body next to mine. Because you’re lying close enough that you could wrap your arms around me. Because I wish more than anything that you would._

Steve couldn’t share any of those reasons, so he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know. Just restless, I guess.”

The bed shifted, and Steve realized with a start that Bucky had rolled over, pressed against Steve’s side. His hand rested against Steve’s chest, and Steve hoped the stutter of his heartbeat wasn’t noticeable.

“Do I make you restless?” Bucky’s breath was cool against Steve’s skin. Steve shivered and closed his eyes. The bed shifted again, and when Steve opened his eyes, Bucky’s face hovered above him, blue eyes piercing through the dark.

Feeling brave, Steve raised one hand to rest against Bucky’s cheek. The corner of Bucky’s mouth turned up into a grin against his palm. Steve returned the smile, and ran his thumb against Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky leaned down, slowly, and Steve held his breath as Bucky’s lips brushed against his. Their foreheads pressed together, and Steve let out a shaky exhale. Bucky kissed him again, with more intention. His hand slid from Steve’s chest down to his waist as the kiss deepened, while his other hand rested by Steve’s head. 

And then a third appendage slipped under the hem of Steve’s shirt. Steve gasped at the sensation against his stomach; it was smoother than skin had any right to be.

“Sorry.” Bucky winced as he pulled back. Steve blinked and widened his eyes. A long tendril, black with a lavender underside, curled next to Bucky’s face, then snapped back behind him out of view.

“I can hide them, I just--” 

“It’s okay,” Steve whispered. “It’s okay, it felt good. And you don’t need to hide from me.”

Bucky bent back down for another kiss, but Steve pushed at his chest and shimmied to get his own shirt over his head. Bucky quickly followed suit, and soon they were entwined together on the bed, skin on skin.

It was a hell of a view, Steve thought to himself. Tentacles curved around Bucky’s torso, emerging from his back. Two wound around Steve’s hands, pinning them to the bed without force. Another two had slid their way down Steve’s shins and wrapped around his ankles. Smooth as silk with a flicker of something electrifying; otherworldly.

Bucky’s hands were free to cup Steve’s face, run through his hair, brush against his collarbone. One thumb flicked against his nipple, and Steve moaned against Bucky’s lips in response. He jerked his hips, but Bucky shook his head slightly, murmuring words Steve couldn’t understand against the delicate spot under his ear.

Another tendril wrapped around Steve’s leaking dick, pulling it against Bucky’s and pressing them together. Slick with precome, the tendril wrapped around them both, working their shafts together. Every nerve in Steve’s body was on fire as he went taut, his back arching slightly.

A pressure, light at first, then more insistent, caressed Steve’s entrance. His eyes squeezed shut, then flew open as yet another tentacle worked its way inside, slowly, gently. Bucky whispered into the crook of his neck as he eased into Steve; they moaned together as their hips moved in tandem. 

Bucky was everywhere around him, inside him, and Steve drowned in the overwhelming sensation. The tentacles wrapped around his wrists and ankles tightened as the ones inside him and around their dicks moved faster, slick and hot and electric with the spark of supernatural.

A few deliberate thrusts had Steve crashing over the edge, with Bucky right behind him. He felt the pulse of Bucky’s dick, still pressed against his own, and the rush of sticky slickness as their come ran together over Steve’s stomach. Steve’s toes curled as their orgasms crashed together, waves in a storm, the final thundering before the calm.

Once spent, Steve’s limbs went limp, and Bucky’s tendrils loosened their grip. Steve skimmed his fingers along one and kept it clasped in hand. He reached his other hand up to brush the hair from Bucky’s eyes. Bucky blinked, then smiled, eyes soft as they met Steve’s.

Steve smiled back; his heart thrummed as Bucky rested a hand over it. Steve knew they needed to get cleaned up. But for this moment, neither of them moved, content to stay as they were, bound together in the silence.

# ~

Steve took a deep breath at his front door, coughing a little at the pollen in the air. He slipped into the apartment, calling for Bucky as he shut the door behind him.

“In the living room,” Bucky replied. Steve walked in to find Bucky on the couch, watching The Amazing World of Gumball and eating tortilla chips. He looked over at Steve and grinned.

“I saw your note,” he said. He glanced down at the plastic bag Steve had hugged against his chest. “Did you bring back something for breakfast?”

“Not exactly.” Steve walked over to Bucky and set the bag down on the coffee table. Bucky raised an eyebrow, and Steve nodded towards the bag.

“Go ahead, open it.”

Setting aside the tortilla chips, Bucky opened the bag. He frowned as he pulled out a slim leather bound book, cracked along the binding.

“What is… oh.” Bucky’s fingers traced the pattern stamped around the edge of the front cover. The same blue and black waves that had been on his vase marched around the border.

That morning Steve had woken up warm and cozy, lying on his side in bed. Bucky’s various appendages had been wrapped around him, keeping him close against Bucky’s chest as he snoozed. Steve had managed to untangle himself enough to slip out and use the bathroom, but Bucky hadn’t stirred. Steve had been amused at seeing the tentacle god who didn’t need sleep crashed out and tangled in his sheets.

But then he’d checked his phone and seen an email from Dr. Coulson, urging him to call as soon as he was able. Steve had crept down to the kitchen in his boxers, made the call, and ruefully dressed himself. He’d left a note for Bucky on the bedside table, saying he’d be back shortly, then had headed out to catch the next bus to campus.

“It’s about you,” Steve said. He watched Bucky’s face for signs of emotion, but his emotion remained blank. “The book, it’s got your emblem on it.”

“It does,” Bucky replied. He looked up at Steve quizzically.

“One of the Mythology professors found it,” Steve said. “He let me take it home, for research. There might be information in there, about you.”

If Steve were being honest, he was skeptical that he should have been allowed to take such a rare book home with him, even temporarily. But Dr. Coulson had been so elated at Steve’s interest that he’d immediately assured Steve that he could keep the book for as long as he liked.

“You’re trying to research me?”

“No,” Steve huffed. “I’m trying to send you back!”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “You want me to leave?”

“No!” Steve shouted. He took a breath and tried to stamp down his frustration. “I don’t want you to leave, but I don’t want you trapped here, either!”

“I’m not trapped,” Bucky said with a puzzled look on his face. “I can go anywhere I want, whenever I want.”

“But you said you were having problems trying to get back!”

Bucky grinned, almost sheepishly. “I didn’t mean I _couldn’t_ leave. Just that I was having a hard time _wanting_ to leave.”

“Oh.” Steve stared at Bucky for a moment, slack jawed. He hurried around the table and sat on the couch. The book got set carefully on the coffee table. Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand, along with a tentacle that had wandered free. 

“So, you don’t want to leave?” Steve asked carefully.

Bucky shook his head decisively. “No.”

Steve took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Well, I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Bucky leaned in to rest his forehead against Steve’s. “I guess I shouldn't leave, then.”

“Guess not,” Steve whispered.

And he didn’t.


End file.
